


Worked Up

by TheMightyFlynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/pseuds/TheMightyFlynn
Summary: Seeing Oliver fly again brings back emotions Percy hadn’t even recognised during school.





	Worked Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [weasleyjumpers](https://weasleyjumpers.livejournal.com/) Mini Fest 2017

Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate Quidditch. I never really have. I, of course, am aware of my reputation of being a bit of a pedant who walks around like he has a carrot shoved up his arse. That, however, couldn’t be further from the truth when it comes to me, Quidditch, and my team.

“…you disgusting, putrid sack of Thestral manure!”

“Oi, Macalister! How’d you even get into the air, you fucking fat slob?”

I shot to my feet as the Pride of Portree flew around the pitch, warming up. “Go on, Raynott! Your mother gave me that same look last night when she was begging me not to leave!”

Admittedly, it wasn't my finest moment. My companions found the remark amusing, however; I found myself on the receiving end of a number of back slaps that nearly knocked me into the row in front. My cheeks immediately began to heat at the realisation that I had screamed the insult.

“Good on you, Perce! Never thought you had it in you!”

I smiled sheepishly in the direction of my row-mates. They all grinned at me as though I’d said something hilarious. Which, I suppose I had, with my audience being a group of my workmates who were already three sheets to the wind, even though the game hadn’t started yet. Not that I was sober, but my one Firewhisky couldn't compare to the numerous drinks they had all consumed. A roar from the stands had me whipping my head around towards the pitch again.

“…Puddlemere United,” the magnified voice of the announcer boomed out. “The Captain, Keeper Wood, leads the team out onto the pitch. Chasers Griffiths, Lupton, and Spettell follow him closely. The Beaters, Knighton and Lacy, are next, both waving their bats high. Seeker Higgins is the last to take the field!”

My ears might as well be stuffed with cottonwool, for all the effect the announcer was having on me. The second the Puddlemere team appeared, I lost all of my concentration. Well, alright. The second _Oliver Wood_ took the field, I lost all of my concentration. I hadn’t been to a live game in many years and, therefore, hadn't seen Oliver in person for just as long. We lost contact after the end of the war – different directions in life and all – but until that very moment, it never occurred to me to regret that loss. Oliver had been a brilliant friend in school, but that was all he was, right? An old schoolfriend? According to the stuttering of my heart in my chest, apparently not.

“Oi, Perce!”

I jumped. Shaking my head to clear it, I silently accepted the plastic cup of beer I was handed. Surely this reaction was just nerves over the game, right?

“Alright, Weasley?”

Mentally cursing myself as I twitched in surprise for the second time in as many minutes, I leant forward to see past the row of laughing and cheering people between me and the person who had spoken.

“You look pale. Well, paler than usual.”

_Missy Chancellor_ , my mind supplied as I got a good look at the speaker. _Kingsley’s secretary_. I offered up my best grin and made a hand gesture that I had seen Ron and Harry use to tell each other that they were fine. It seemed to work, as she smiled and nodded in return, leaving me to sort out what had just happened on my own. I glanced up as I heard a sharp whistle, beginning the match.

The tickets the Ministry had supplied us were at the Puddlemere end of the field, giving me a near-perfect view of Oliver as he flew. Well, a near-perfect view of his leather-clad arse. Just my bloody luck.

Bent over the handle of the broom, Oliver wasn’t really helping to relive my confusion over my body’s sudden reaction. Surely this had to be the excitement of the game, right? Oliver was just – well, _Oliver_. Overly-enthusiastic, warm, friendly, always there with a huge grin and a slap on the back that caused me to blush… Flying high above me, Oliver swooped, seeming to take my insides with him.

_Fuck._

“C’mon, Perce! Keep up!”

I swallowed my nearly-full beer in one breath before accepting a second one. “Keep ‘em coming, Gomez!”

For the second time that day, my remark caused cheers to go up from our row. Whether it was because it was me who had said it, or because the rest agreed that Gomez should keep us all supplied with alcohol for the rest of the game was unclear. Gomez grinned and saluted me with his plastic cup before returning his attention to the pitch. Riding on the high of adrenalin caused both by my workmate’s approval and the whatever-it-was whenever I looked at Oliver, I, too, turned to watch the match again.

The Quaffle was up our end, drawing most of the rest of the field with it. It was difficult to discern which player was which at times, but my seemingly unerring Oliver-radar found him easily. My head swam with the combination of alcohol and lust as I watched him fly. Wrapped in tight leather, that arse was one of the most magnificent things I had ever seen. And it led down to those strong thighs, clenching around the broom handle… I bit my lip as I watched him dive. There was something incredibly graceful about the way he flew, despite his size. But then, I figured, there always had been. 

The rest of the game was spent in trying to convince myself that this reaction was just the excitement of being back at a live game. I knew fooling myself was hopeless, but I put in my best effort. The truth was, I had felt this before. Oliver had always caused my insides to flutter with excitement. Those warm brown eyes and even warmer smile had always drawn me towards him, even when he’d frustrated me with his Quidditch obsession.

With my newly-discovered – crush? Feelings? Lust-fuelled need? – coursing through me, I didn’t even realise how late it was getting. I lost track of time and just drifted along in a warm bubble of sensation. There was something magical about watching Oliver fly and it was causing all kinds of new sensations to rush through me. When combined with the alcohol I had consumed, it was a heady mix. I cheered and cat-called along with the rest of the crowd, sure, but it was Oliver I stayed focussed on. With how closely I watched him, it was no surprise that I was the first of my group to rise to my feet when he was hit with one of the Bludgers.

I screamed obscenities along with the rest of the crowd. The Portree players were worthless, useless; not even worthy of holding Puddlemere’s jockstraps. I don’t recall deciding to rush down towards the Puddlemere locker room, but it seemed like the most brilliant idea ever when fuelled by the adrenalin coursing through my veins. I pushed people out of my way, determined to get to Oliver as soon as possible. The only obstacle in my way was the security guard who stood, a solid mass, in the doorway. I reached into my back pocket, fishing for the ‘Friends and Family Pass’ Ginny had gotten for me.

“Of course, Mr. Weasley,” the guard murmured in a low rumble. “Have a nice night.”

I nodded in response, or something similar, because he smiled in return and stepped aside. With him out of my way, I stepped quickly down the corridor, aided by the sure knowledge that this was the right thing to do. The medical team stepped out of the locker room just as I was making my way inside.

“Oliver?”

The first room was empty when I entered. I blinked, trying to force my eyes to adjust to the relative gloom of torchlight after being out in the stadium lights all night. All of the lockers had clothing falling out of them, or equipment standing against their closed doors. That wasn’t what I focussed on, however. A muffled thud sounded from behind a door across the room and, before my mind could catch up with me, I strode over to push it open.

“Oliver?”

“For fuck’s sake! What _now_?”

My courage faltered as I entered the room. A dividing wall ran down the centre, but it hid nothing. Oliver stood, completely naked, just in front of me, a stream of hot water spraying over him. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his tanned skin glistening under the spray. I swallowed hard.

“I – I…”

My cheeks heated, but I couldn't look away. My hand clenched on the doorhandle as my glasses fogged up, obscuring my vision. When I cleaned and replaced them, it was to find Oliver standing facing me, his fringe dripping water into his eyes.

“ _Percy_?”

“I – uh… Sorry.”

I turned and fled as fast as dignity would allow. I didn’t know _what_ I had been thinking, coming into the locker room like this. Oliver and I hadn’t seen each other for years, so _why_ had I thought it a good idea to come and see him now? It seemed that there was something to be said for making rational decisions after having a few drinks: it was an incredibly bad idea!

_At least the shock seems to have sobered me up…_

I reached out for the doorhandle that would lead back into the corridor to the stadium. Perhaps the cool night air would help with clearing my head a little. I jumped when I was prevented from turning the handle by a wet hand being placed over mine.

“Percy!”

I froze. It hadn't occurred to me that Oliver would follow me. Closing my eyes, I took a steadying breath, withdrawing behind my usual mask of propriety. The damnable blush was still staining my cheeks, I was certain, but there was nothing I could do about it. I half-turned, my hand still trapped on the doorhandle.

“Yes?”

“‘Yes’? Is that all you have to say to me?” Oliver removed his hand and took a step back. “You must have come down here for a reason?”

For a split second, I contemplated just leaving. But, no. Rudeness like that was simply not in my nature. So instead, I took another deep breath, turned to face Oliver properly, and fixed my eyes determinedly on a spot just over his left shoulder.

“I was concerned.”

Gods, but my tone was formal! I sounded like a stuck-up prig, but there was really nothing I could do. Formality is the way I learned to deal with uncomfortable situations and I would be damned if I was going to allow that mask to fall now.

“Concerned?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Oliver fell silent. It became clear to me in that second that the locker rooms must have had _Muffliato_ charms placed on them, because the only sound in that bloody room was the pounding of my pulse in my ears. When the silence had gone on too long, I risked meeting his eyes. Warm and soft, they held none of the accusation I feared finding there. In fact, there was something else entirely there: a heat that had my stomach flipping. Emboldened once again, I took a step forward. It seemed that that was all Oliver had been waiting for.

I found myself pushed up against the door of the locker room in a matter of seconds. Oliver’s wet body pressed against me, trapping me as his mouth descended on mine. My hands roamed downwards, discovering the towel that he had wrapped around his waist. I made quick work of it, allowing it to pool at our feet. My clothing proved a little more difficult.

“Bloody… Fucking…” Oliver grumbled as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of my thick coat.

Without even thinking through the consequences, I waved my wand. “ _Evanesco_.”

“Better.”

With that growled word, it seemed Oliver thought he had said more than enough. Stepping in so he could latch onto the pulse point throbbing in the side of my throat, he began to move against me.

My head swam, my eyes closing tight as pleasure rocked through me. Oliver’s teeth were sharp against my skin, nipping and nibbling in a way that I knew would leave a huge hickey, but the pain helped a little. It dragged me back from the edge that I was to floating close to. I adjusted my stance, allowing our cocks to slide together rather than just thrusting against his hip. My nails dug into his shoulder when he bit down hard on my shoulder. I tossed my head back against the door as I neared orgasm, but was denied the pleasure as Oliver shuddered in my arms. His release spilled up over my stomach, but he backed away before I could finish.

“What? I–”

My vision swam dizzyingly when I finally blinked Oliver into focus. He licked his lips and grinned at me as he fell to his knees. My aching cock was engulfed in the heat of his mouth in the next second. My stomach muscles clenched and my hands went immediately to his hair. I held him still for a few seconds, simply enjoying the sucking sensation he was creating. But that couldn’t last. I began to move quickly, watching through lust-glazed eyes as Oliver obviously relaxed his throat. I lasted a pathetic twenty seconds, or something thereabouts. Once my orgasm released me, I fell to the floor of the locker room, panting. It could have been hours before either of us spoke again; I had no way of telling.

“Sorry about that.”

“Huh?” I replied intelligently. My mind had yet to catch up, still swimming happily in my post-orgasmic bliss.

“Games always work me up. Even ones where I’m forced off the field.”

I stayed silent, simply enjoying the sensations floating through me. Oliver sat up beside me.

“Perce?”

“I have no such excuse.”

My gaze drifted over to him. With his cheeks tinted a rosy pink, his still-damp hair sticking up in all directions, and his eyes half-lidded, he made the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

“Really?”

There was a gleam to his eyes as he bent to hover over me that had my skin tingling with tension. The formal mask I had been clinging so desperately to fell away completely as he held me in that gaze. I offered up a small smile, resisting grinning like an idiot when his eyes dropped to stare at my mouth.

“Indeed. Although, I am sure I could come up with some half-baked excuse about seeing that fine arse of yours all clad in leather–”

I laughed into the kiss he pressed to my lips. The smile that he showed as he stood and offered a hand so I could rise and follow him to the showers held such promise that I didn’t need to question my actions this time. This was right.


End file.
